The glories of rosé

We break down this often misunderstood wine

In the mid-1970s, the contrivance of the wine called "white zinfandel" occasioned, simultaneously, both one of the better and one of the worse things to happen to this country's appreciation of wine.

Because it is routinely sweet and yawningly low in acidity, white zinfandel (which actually is pink zinfandel) introduced thousands of first-time wine drinkers to wine. They have graduated, by a normal progression, to enjoy drier, finer wines. That's the better part.

The worse part is that it spawned a colorism bias against all wines pink as froufrou, frilly, cloying and vapid. (And, then, the worst: as fit for women only.) No wonder winemakers call white zinfandel a "blush wine." It's too embarrassed to be a real wine.

However, wine drinkers from other countries know that some of the more delicious of their bottled buddies are pink, or rosé (pronounced "roe-zay") to Francophones, rosado to Spanish speakers and rosato for Italians.

All the best rosés are dry (or slightly off-dry), never sweet. They are wines on all fours, just like their dry white and red siblings. And they're made of blue-blood grapes, too, such as grenache (the all-time, all-over champion of rosé wine grapes), syrah, pinot noir, cabernet franc and sangiovese. And even, sometimes, zinfandel.

No need these days for more grizzled evangelism over the deliciousness of dry rosé. The drip has become a torrent.

According to Vins de Provence, U.S. retail sales of rosé wine jumped 22 percent from 2009 to 2011. Nielsen reports that rosé sales in the U.S. during 2010 grew at five times the rate of total table wine sales.

That's because dry rosé is an evening breeze in a glass, its own lake effect. Dry rosé combines the best of what white wines offer — a chill, freshness, crispness — with the best of that of reds — fruit flavors and juiciness. And, perhaps with the exception of good Champagne, no wine pairs so well with more sorts of foods.

As for the American prejudice against pink wines — that they are not a man's wine — I relate a short but telling story.

I once saw, at a roadside diner in southern France, an enormous, hairy, sweaty, foul-smelling, oil-under-the-fingernails trucker — with a lit Gauloise dangling from his lower lip — descend, plumber's crack first, from his Mercedes-Benz mini-semi, waddle into the restaurant and set himself upon an entire pot of daube de boeuf.

And what did he chug with his manly meal? A liter of chilled dry rosé de Provence.

If such an ür-male of the species can drink dry rosé very publicly and shamelessly, then I think that his less venturesome brethren in this country ought to be able to do so too.

It isn't legit to put down pink wine because its color is associated with garden parties or the decor at assisted living homes in Fort Myers. Dry rosé is delicious. It is versatile at table. It's quenching. And, it's also for boys.

3 ways to go

1. Lean, crisp, dry rosés with a nice hint of minerals

Many grapes — such as syrah, grenache or sangiovese — grown in the dry lands of southern France, say, or eastern Washington have the uncanny ability to uptake grace notes of minerals or earth from their vineyard soils. These are pretty fillips to the juicy strawberry, cherry and pomegranate tastes in the wines.

Some rosés sport a bit of sweetness, especially in the finish. They would be especially delicious with foods that contain a bit of sweetness to them such as Indian or Thai cooking containing coconut milk.